DAMIAN’S POV
Elena thinks silence is an armor.
The ride home from the Blackshore Grand was dead quiet. She sat in the leather passenger seat, staring out the rain-slicked window with her lips pressed tight, her hands clamped over her lower stomach as if she were shielding something fragile from me. She didn't scream. She didn't demand an explanation for why I yanked her back into the ballroom.
That silence told me more than an argument ever could.
By the time the car pulled into the estate, I had already initiated the surveillance protocols. Elena has changed.
I notice it again the next morning at breakfast. She sits across from me, helping Leo with his toast while Rosa packs his bag. Her hair is pinned back, and she wears a plain linen dress—the kind she used to wear before I took ov
